


Only In Dreams

by fairyroses



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Depression, Dreams, F/M, I don't really know how else to describe this, Ichabbie is Endgame, Oneshot, death is not the end, implied Death By Broken Heart, isn't it sad that the only way to actually make us happy now is for Ichabod to die?, post-season 3 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 11:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8054653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairyroses/pseuds/fairyroses
Summary: The only times he can see her now are in his dreams.





	Only In Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my tumblr as a prompt fill (thank you @briony-in-the-nettles for the prompt!), but it garnered enough positive feedback that I thought I might as well cross-post it onto AO3 and thus finally start using my account on here. 
> 
> Feel free to leave comments! I LOVE comments. :)

The only times he can see her now are in his dreams.

Sometimes she is but a ghost, a being of shadows and whispered promises left unfulfilled, wandering just beyond his reach. He chases her, but she glides along on the wind, shapeless, and eludes him until he awakens. On those days, he is frustrated and short-tempered, and snaps at his new partner, knowing that she doesn’t deserve such treatment but not finding it within himself to care. She’s not _her_. 

Sometimes he can see her, off in the distance. Her figure is small and familiar, and yet almost unrecognizable in a white dress whose edges flutter like doves’ wings as she twirls, graceful and lovely. Her curly hair is lit with sunlight, an angel’s halo, and her dark skin glows with radiance and joy. He wonders if this is the dress she would have worn to their wedding.

When he wakes, he is wistful—reminded of what could have been, but now will never be. He spends the day sad and uncharacteristically withdrawn. His partner asks if he is okay—he lies, and says he is fine. 

Sometimes his dreams are sexual, but never in the way he would like. It should be her, he _knows_ it’s her, but in his dreams, she is faceless—just another body in delicate lingerie, there to pass the time. He awakens before the end and immediately takes a cold shower, unable to shake the feeling of wrongness from his shoulders. As if he’s betrayed her, somehow. He goes to work, makes eye contact with his partner, and the feeling increases tenfold.

He should have kissed her in the Archives, after they had rescued each other from the Catacombs. He should have kissed her many times before that. 

Now he never will. 

Sometimes his dreams are memories. His first baseball game. Their first hot yoga class. That time she wiped whipped cream off of his mustache. Her smile. Her laugh. The way her brown eyes shined, turning to gold in the sunlight. He tries to reach out and touch her, but finds himself unable to deviate from the memory. 

He is sitting on her porch swing, as she tells him that her time in the world is done. _I love you, with all of my heart,_ he thinks, but in the memory, he says nothing. Then she is gone.

He awakens with a cry, tears on his cheeks. 

He calls in sick to work that day. 

And then the day after that, for good measure. 

He stops getting drinks with Jenny in the evenings. He can’t look her in the eyes anymore without a wave of sadness crashing over him. He cannot remember the last time he had laughed, or even smiled. 

She had always made him smile so _easily_.

He spends more and more time asleep. His dreams continue to tease and torment him, but they are still preferable to the waking world. At least here he can see her. He can still pretend that she is real, and that her soul is not residing in the body of another—one he is supposed to love, but doesn’t.

He will never love another like he loves her, prophecies and eternal souls be damned. 

His hair has grown long again, as he no longer bothers to cut it, occupied as he is with his dreams. He eats less, and what he does eat is simple and microwavable. There is no point in cooking an elaborate meal for only one. 

One day, Jenny assists him and his partner on a case, and he can see the concern in her eyes, but ignores it. He leaves before she can catch him alone. He cannot explain himself to her. He knows she wouldn’t understand. 

That night, his dream is different. Instead of running away, this time she comes to him. She is as she was when he first met her, dressed in her police uniform, her hair long and straight. She’s beautiful and regal, confidently riding atop a familiar pale horse. The horse shuffles and snorts at him, its eyes glowing red, but he only has eyes for her as she leans down and reaches a small hand out, beckoning to him. He steps forward, unbelieving, waiting for the trick—for her to disappear—but there is no trick, and his hand closes around hers. Solid. 

With a strength that can only exist in dreams, she pulls him up to sit behind her, and his hands immediately settle on her waist. Real. Warm. She looks over her shoulder and smiles at him. 

“Ready, Captain?” she asks, eyes sparkling.

“For you, Lieutenant?” He returns her smile, and feels a certain calm settle over him. Puzzle pieces falling into place. “Always.” 

For once, he wastes no time, leaning in and kissing her, leaving them both breathless. 

She grins, face flushed and delighted, and snaps the reigns. He continues to hold her as the horse gallops off, into the mist, and it is only as he feels his soul separate from the earthly plane that he realizes his dreams had been so much more than they appeared. 

They had not just been the only times when he could see her—they had been the only times when  _she_ could see _him_ , as well.

And now, thanks to her, he was here to stay.  


End file.
